Tranquilize
by Corona-Light
Summary: "The Bleeding Effect was severe enough to draw out the actual ancestor, instead of just memories, actions, the like. Paired with the glitch, it just all went haywire."  Possible Alt x Des later on if I'm feeling up to it. R&R is nice.
1. Chapter 1

"_No_, Desmond."

Desmond let out a keening whine.

"But Lucy, it's the freaking Fourth of July! I just wanna sit back and have a couple of beers!"

"You can't just 'sit back', Desmond. Vidic is getting nearer, and time is of the essence," Shaun snapped at him from his position at his computer desk. Desmond let out an angry sigh.

"Boy if I had a nickel for every time someone's said that to me..." he grumbled, slouching over the Animus 2.0. Lucy stared at his retreating back with a mixed look of pity and annoyance.

Yes, it was the Fourth of July, but Desmond needed to realize that they couldn't stop so abruptly with their work. Shaun was right. They had to keep on moving with the files and memories. None of them knew when Vidic would find them. They didn't want to take any chances.

Desmond sat down on the Animus with another sigh, closing his eyes as Rebecca hooked him up, placing wires at his temples and wrists, patting him on the knee when he was ready to go. He twitched away from her hand, scowling a bit. Rebecca sighed, going over to her computer, and started up the most recent memory. Desmond winced as the giant white expanse of the Animus loading lobby attacked his eyes, making them sting a bit.

He started jogging around, heading nowhere in particular, when Rebecca's voice cut into whiteness.

"Wait a minute...I thought the most recent memory was in Florence...?"

Shaun's voice joined hers.

"So? Yeah, it was, why?"

"It says _Acre_ instead."

"What! Why?"

"I dunno! I think it may be a corrupted file...!"

"No _I thinks_, Becca! We need to be positive!"

"Well, shit, Shaun! I'm not a computer mastermind! Lemme work on this!"

Desmond looked around him, his auburn eyes widening. Images flicked all around him, from guards to horses to haystacks and beggars. It all changed so fast. The only sure thing Desmond saw was a figure walking towards him, shoulders back in a superior stance, even as he swaggered toward Desmond. The novice assassin squinted, then started to back away with wide eyes. Oh, shit...

"A-Altair!" he cried out, tripping over his feet as the figure sped up, taking long and harsh strides towards Desmond, his left arm twitching. Desmond knew that was a very, very bad sign. He turned tail and ran fast, going nowhere, but somehow managing to get farther away from the figure. He could hear heavy footfalls behind him, getting louder and louder. Finally, he was tackled to the ground something sharp and cold pressed to his throat, set against his pulse. He wheezed for air. A knee pressed heavily against his spine.

"Who are you? Why am I here! What is this place? And how do you know my name!" a harsh voice grated in his ear, a growl bordering on a feral snarl. Desmond panted for breath, hands flat on the ground beside his head. He swallowed, feeling the blade slide along his skin to rest against his Adam's apple. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"P-please, just calm down..."

"How can one calm down when one has just been ripped out of thin air and ported to an empty white room? Would _you_ be _calm_!" Altair shouted, fisting Desmond's hair tightly, yanking his head back. Desmond hissed.

"Where am I?" he drawled, his voice low and dangerous, shooting shivers of fear down Desmond's spine. The younger man stuttered.

"I'm n-not sure e-either, just _please_, p-please calm down..."

Rebecca's voice came at them again, making Altair jump.

"Okay, Des, we're going to try and pull you out, okay?"

Desmond shook his head while Altair shouted questions at him.

"No, Rebecca, don't-!"

"Who is Rebecca? Where is that voice coming from?"

Desmond curled up into a ball, a sharp pain tearing across his torso, down his side to the base of his spine. Altair felt it too, back arching as he let out a pained shout, hands reaching for the small of his back. A burning sensation spread up their spines, drawing out long cries from them both. Neither of them felt it when their bodies collapsed heavily on the hardwood floor of the hideout's main room, nor could they feel the hot wetness of Altair's blood sliding across their skin.

They were deaf to the world.


	2. Chapter 2

"...mond? Desmond? Hey, man, you alright?"

Desmond groaned loudly, his hand moving to cradle his aching head. He peeled his eyes open, regretting the action instantly. The sunlight burned his eyes. Licking the roof of his mouth, he sat up slowly, looking around the worried faces of Shaun, Rebecca and Lucy. His brows furrowed.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

Rebecca sputtered.

"Y-you don't remember anything?"

"...Should I?"

He earned a cuff to the ear by Shaun. He yelped and socked the Brit in the knee, scowling.

"You don't remember the Animus glitching? How could you not remember!"

"He hit his head, Shaun, you numbskull," Rebecca snapped, a rare scowl coming over her features. Shaun leaned back, raising a brow. Desmond turned to Lucy.

"What glitch? What're you guys talking about?"

"Desmond," Lucy grimaced, looking away, gnawing on her lower lip. "Okay, so...there was a corrupted file in the Animus. For some reason, instead of a Florentine memory, we got one from Altair's past instead. The glitch, combined with the Bleeding Effect, kinda...screwed us over, to put it bluntly."

"How so...?" Desmond asked cautiously, ignoring Rebecca and Shaun's bickering and leaning closer to Lucy. She stared at his hand.

"Well, we pulled you out well enough, but..."

"But...?" Desmond repeated, narrowing his eyes. Lucy sighed, her head falling forward.

"But Altair came out also..." she muttered. Desmond blinked, his eyes wide, mimicking that of an owls. He finally screamed.

"What? How in the fuck is that possible!"

"I just told you!" Lucy snapped back, standing up and crossing her arms. "The Bleeding Effect was severe enough to draw out the actual ancestor, instead of just memories, actions, the like. Paired with the glitch, it just all went haywire."

Desmond stared at his hands, his auburn eyes unseeing.

So...a man who was supposedly dead for hundreds of years, was somewhere, right then, with Desmond, in the year 2012? Shit. It hurt his head thinking about it. Instead he asked another question that came to his mind.

"Where is he...Where is Altair?"

"Oh...uhm...well, when he woke up, uhm...he kind of..."

"Your bloody grandpa attacked me," Shaun quipped, showing the left side of his face. A thin cut traveled down his jaw, accompanied by a bruising eye. "I don't think he likes me," he muttered dryly.

"Probably because you're British. He doesn't take too kindly to the British."

"Why!"

"Because most of them were Templars and people who wanted to kill him!"

Shaun sighed angrily, looking away.

"Anyway," Rebecca continued where Lucy left off. "We used Shaun's belt and tied him up in the laundry room." She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers, grinning. "Enter at your own risk!"

"God, Rebecca, how can you act like a child at a time like this?" Shaun put in angrily. Desmond got up and walked away, catching the last bit of Rebecca's retort.

"Hey, man! You gotta keep good spirits in shitty-ass situations!"

_Keep good spirits, huh? Haven't heard that before_, Desmond thought, his body tense as he neared the laundry room.

He could hear a heavy mass banging against the walls, a rough voice screaming for release. Desmond took in a shaky breath, holding it as he pushed the door open softly. He could see Altair in the corner, arms bound behind his back, his body pressed against the wall as he shouted out curses in rough Arabic. Desmond winced.

"Altair...!"

Desmond couldn't even comprehend Altair's sudden movement. First he saw Altair's head whip towards him, hood covering his eyes but not his snarl, and the next he saw Altair's face up close to his, his golden eyes glaring up at him. He had his knee up high and pressed against Desmond's gut, his body twisted at an angle so that his shoulder dug into Desmond's throat. He had obviously been in situation's like this before.

"Where. The Hell. Am I!" he hissed, his teeth bore like an angered dog, eyes flashing wildly. Desmond choked, pushing back against Altair's form, jerking away. The older man wouldn't have it. He shot a knee upwards into Desmond's stomach, swiping his legs out from under the younger man. Taking advantage of Desmond's spluttering state, he placed his boot heavily on the novice assassin's throat. Desmond grimaced, holding up his hands.

"Okay, just...for the love of God, don't kill me!"

Altair remained motionless, barely applying more pressure to Desmond's trachea. Desmond wheezed.

"O-okay, ah, uhm, so...here, in this certain time..."

"What do you mean, certain time?" Altair questioned, tilting his head to the side. His voice had taken on a steely calmness. Desmond glanced around.

"What I mean is, you're not in 1191 anymore..." Desmond squeezed his eyes shut as the next sentence tripped off his tongue. "You're in the y-year 2012." He waited for the sharp pain in his throat, the ending blackness, but it never came. He peeked an eye open.

Altair stared down at him with wide golden eyes, his shoulders slumped, jaw slack.

What was this man saying to him? 2012? How was that possible! Altair reeled backwards, sliding down to the floor against the wall, shaking his head. His body wracked with spasms, a sharp jolt in his stomach making him wince. This was too much...

The boy came over to him, hesitantly, his auburn eyes worried. For himself or Altair? The Master Assassin couldn't care less. When the boy crouched down before him his lips pursed, and reached out to place a hand at his shoulder, Altair jerked his head forward, head-butting the boy squarely in his nose, making him fall back. Altair lurched to his feet, tearing out of the room. He had to get out of there! He had to get back to Masayf, to Malik, to all that was normal in his life.

He tripped down a flight of stairs, barely catching his footing, noticing how his footfalls clanged and echoed around him. Metal...? What? Altair looked all around him, Eagle Vision flickering on and off. Nothing gleamed red, but it was all so...odd. Improper.

Nothing was as it should've been.


	3. Chapter 3

Shaun rapped his fingers against his desk, wondering if Desmond had gotten himself killed by his ancestor. Rebecca and Lucy were having similar thoughts, Lucy pacing to and fro, Rebecca trying hard to concentrate on fixing the Animus files, but failing miserably. Desmond had been gone for _half an hour_. They hoped the poor bastard wasn't dead...

Shaun stood up abruptly, his hands flat and his desk, and murmured to the girls.

"I'm gonna go see if the poor bloke is alright. This is nerve wracking, to say the least," he muttered, stalking out of the room brusquely. Rebecca and Lucy stared at each other, Lucy un-clipping the telescopic baton from her belt and trotting after Shaun. She called out to him.

"Shaun, take this...in case, you know, he somehow managed to rip through your cheap belt."

Shaun took the baton with a blank face, pursing his lips. It wasn't a cheap belt...

Shaun sighed as he continued down the hallway, keeping his ears open for any noises. He heard a low groan from the laundry room. Jogging over, he had to keep a snicker back at the sight of Desmond keeled over on the floor, hands to his face. The novice assassin glanced up, his nose dripping blood down his chin and into his gaping mouth. He took a deep breath in past his lips, shaking his head.

"He took off," he rasped, spitting out the blood that pooled under his tongue. Shaun's grey eyes widened, before narrowing dangerously as he stalked down the hallway, trying to step lightly on the stairs. He glanced about him, flicking the baton open, holding it ready at his side.

Skirting around one of the giant stacks of crates that sat useless in the warehouse, Shaun noticed a flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. He turned swiftly, his mind shutting off as he allowed his instincts take over. He raised the baton in time to block a quick strike from Altair's hidden blade, the force of the assault jerking him back.

Altair hissed, moving to strike again. Raising his arm and bringing it crashing down, he grunted when, yet again, his attack was blocked by the baton. Shaun parried to the side, flicking the baton and whacking Altair in the back of his knee, hitting a nerve. The Master Assassin yelped, back arching as he turned, blade swinging inches away from Shaun's face. The Historian hissed as another slice was added to his already marred skin, criss-crossing with the first that Altair had graced him with earlier in the day.

Deciding to give up on being "gentle" with his attacks, Shaun swung the baton brutally into Altair's thigh, drawing a howl of pain from the man as he crumpled, using his fist to support himself as his leg gave out from under him. Shaun held the baton tight in his hand, eyes narrowed as he watched Altair's every movement. The Master Assassin lurched up, body tense as he lunged at Shaun with his blade held high. Shaun sidestepped, driving the baton into Altair's stomach, pulling all the breath form his body.

Altair slumped against Shaun's shoulder, gasping for breath, his golden eyes wide. Shaun wriggled away from the writhing mass, knowing full well how the assassination tactics of this man worked. Get close, and sink your blade home. No thanks.

Shaun placed his leg on the other side of Altair's waist, reaching down and unraveling the red sash around the man's body, using it to tie his arms together again. Shaun made sure to peel away the hidden blade from Altair's wrist, noticing with a harsh bark of laughter that the skin was pale in comparison to the rest of the man's arm. Shaun shook his head, using whatever strength he had to pick up Altair and heave him over his shoulder, carrying him back to the girls.

_Just another day at the office,_ he thought dryly, tightening his grip on Altair's legs.

oOoOoOoOoOoO

**I have eight chapters of this thing, so I might as well put them up now. thank you for the favorites!**


	4. Chapter 4

Desmond rubbed away the blood that had smeared over his hands and face with a wet towel, wincing. Altair had broken his nose, and that had hurt enough. When Lucy set it back in it's correct position, though, he let out a pained cry and felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

The novice in question pressed the cool towel to his face as Shaun walked in, his ancestor thrown casually over his shoulder, knocked out and harmless...at the moment. He set down the man none too gently in his swivel chair, wheeling him over to Desmond and the girls. Desmond looked his ancestor over worriedly, eyes searching for any wounds. Without the red sash around his waist, his robes had fallen open, revealing a pale, well muscled stomach. A huge red splotch spread across his abdomen. Desmond shouted at Shaun.

"What did you do to him!"

Shaun pulled the corner of his mouth up in a small grimace, crossing his arms

"I just incapacitated the bastard. He's fine, no bones are broken."

"How do you know! You don't have x-ray vision! You can't see inside his body!"

Shaun rolled his eyes.

"I know I didn't crack any bones, Miles, I would have heard it if his bones snapped."

Desmond glared vehemently at the Historian.

"I think he's right Desmond. He hit Altair in the stomach, not in the ribs," Lucy muttered, her fingers pressing against Altair's rib-cage, feeling the bones gently. Altair made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his eyelids fluttering.

"Well, he's certainly hurting somewhere..." Lucy worried her lower lip with her teeth, a hint of pink spreading over her face. "I can't tell where the wound may be with all these layers of clothes. Could you...?"

Desmond stared at Lucy with blank eyes, unsure of what Lucy was insinuating. He blinked.

"What d'you mean...? Oh," his eyes widened. "N-no, I don't think so..." he shot a glance at his ancestor, who's eyebrow twitched. He pulled the corner of his mouth up in a grimace.

"What if he wakes up?" he whispered hoarsely, eyes still locked on Altair's slackened form. Lucy rolled her eyes as Shaun spoke up.

"I took his precious blade away from him, pet, so you should be in the clear."

"I don't think that was too smart of you Shaun," Desmond muttered, catching the lump of leather and metal and tucking it under his arm as Shaun tossed it to him, scowling at the Brit from the corners of his eyes and pressing his lips into a thin line. Shaun tilted his head.

"How so?" he mumbled, crossing his arms and pursing his lips.

"Because when he wakes up to find it missing, he's gonna go batshit crazy, to be blunt," Desmond stated dryly. He pointed scathingly at Shaun.

"I thought you were the smart one around here?"

"Shove it," Shaun growled.

"Maybe later," the novice shot back instantly. Lucy snapped at the both of them.

"_Hey!_ Would both of you kindly _shut up?_ This is no time to fight with each other, alright?" she gestured brusquely with her hands, startling everyone and making Altair's slackened form twitch. A deep groan reverberated in his throat. Lucy made a small noise, gritting her teeth and waving a hand.

"Just...get on with it Desmond! I don't want to send the poor guy back with a broken rib or two."

Shaun growled, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking away as Desmond shakily pulled the cloth away from Altair's shoulders, letting it group at his bound wrists, and stepping aside for Lucy step up and feel gently across his stomach and ribs.

None of them were expecting for the man to lurch up and let out a pained yell, falling from the chair and scrabbling to the corner, glaring at them with wide eyes, teeth bore in a startled snarl. His cowl had fallen back from his head, light brown hair tousled and on end, skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the feeling of everyone's eyes on him.

He could deal with the glares of anger, the expressions of fear that crossed over people's faces as he advanced on his quarry, but he couldn't deal with that look of calm and slight amusement that swathed over the brunette woman's face. She shouldn't be so collected! Didn't she know who he was!

Everyone but Rebecca let out scared yelps, Desmond stumbling into Shaun as he backed away, Lucy clinging to Shaun's sleeve. She rolled her brown eyes, stepping up with her hands raised.

"Hey, it's okay, we're not gonna hurt you..." she tried at first, Altair glaring at her too. He jerked his head to the side, rumbling deep in his chest and staring at her from the corner's of his eyes. She took that as a sign that he wasn't going to lunge at her, and stepped closer, a smile on her face.

"Well, I'm Rebecca. And I'm gonna try and help get you back home, righty?"

Altair stiffened visibly at that, looking at Rebecca with heavy skepticism.

"How?" he growled. Rebecca smiled again, crouching down as Altair did, ignoring the hisses of warning from the others behind her.

"Well, the machine that brought you here has an effect, called the Bleeding Effect, and it can be reversed. If I can reverse it with you in the machine, you can go home."

Altair frowned at her, though the action wasn't menacing. He was calculating it all in his head. Rebecca smiled again.

"Yeah, it's a bit hard to understand, but it's legit. Can you trust me?" she held her hand out to Altair, dark brown eyes searching for his own topaz, her perpetual grin growing wider when he met her gaze and nodded once, lowering his eyes to the ground, slumping against the corner he was in. Rebecca spoke lowly as she placed her outstretched hand on his bare shoulder.

"Let's get started, then."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

Alternate Title: Becca and Lucy are sooo boinking eachother.  
>thank you to everyone who faved or watched or commented on this thing ;u;<p>

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><p>Clacking away at the keyboard, brown eyes trained on the screen, brow twitching when she came across small little quips of the text, the codes that made her bristle. Altair was looking curiously over her shoulder, golden eyes taking in all that flit across the strange square contraption. Rebecca had tried to explain to him what everything was, but he had reeled back, looking sick, and she shook her head. The poor guy was already freaked out enough, why do anymore damage to his frazzled nerves? Instead, she mumbled to herself, evaluating the situation.<p>

Too much of the coding was corrupt. She'd have to go into the software and interface of the entire system to right this annoying as hell wrong. She felt like punching something. Instead, she heaved a heavy sigh, cradling her jaw in her palm and scowling with unseeing eyes at the screen.

"Yeah, this is gonna take a while," she mumbled and tapped her fingers against her lips, frowning. Altair jumped when she turned sharply in her swivel chair, looking up at him, gripping the arms of her chair with lips pressed into a thin line. He backed away when she stood up.

"Care for the verdict, gentlemen?" she spread her hands out to the others, Shaun sat brooding at his desk, nursing a cup of tea with a hit of whiskey, still annoyed that everyone was convinced he had broken one of Altair's bones. But look at the man now. Walking about with that haughty strut of his. Didn't look like a single bone was broken. Desmond just stood against the wall with his arms crossed, staring warily at Altair's back. He didn't want the man with an explosive temper hurting the smallest of them all. Lucy had her chin in her palm, blue eyes trained on Rebecca, a twitch of her brows motioning to the brunette to carry on. She continued with a huff, Desmond, Lucy and Altair the only ones paying attention to her. Shaun refused to listen.

"I need a good few hours to get things fixed. Maybe days, I can't be sure. Someone might have done something wrong with the Animus, or maybe it was just a malfunction. I dunno. Main thing is," she waved her hands," I can get the Animus fixed. But…" she bit her lip. Altair stressed her.

"_But?_"

"Even then, there might not be a chance of getting Altair back," she grimaced at the man who roared with incredulity.

"_WHAT_! YOU SAID YOU COULD GET ME HOME!" his arms jerked with anxiety, face wild and desperate. "I HAVE TO GO HOME! I CAN NOT _STAY_ HERE. I do not _BELONG here_," he gestured desperately with his hands, baring his teeth in a piteous snarl. Desmond lurched forward, mouth open in a warning, but Becca held up a hand. She spoke calmly.

"_Might,_ Altair, might. That's not a definite. There's a sixty-forty chance that the Animus will fail again or that you'll go back home. Take a breath, alright?" she reached out and gently patted him on the shoulder. Desmond yelped when she jabbed a finger at him.

"Desmond'll be your pet monkey for the day, while I figure this out," Shaun choked on his tea, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Please, please, _please_, Altair, don't kill him. We need him to help you get back."

Altair gave her a tired look, before glancing at Desmond with a ghost of a sneer on his scarred lips.

Altair hadn't really taken to anybody at the hideout. He still detested Shaun, and was very wary with Lucy. Her blue eyes haunted him, for reasons everyone knew. He hadn't really liked Desmond, either. The man looked too much like him, with the same scar on the same side of his mouth. Altair's jaw was stronger, skin coarser, but the resemblance was the same, and it startled him.

The only one he felt slightly at ease with was Rebecca. He allowed her to touch him, talk in a low voice with him, allowed her to take his strange robes and deadly weapons and give him a pair of Desmond's clothes. The only way they could tell the two apart was the fact that Altair kept his hood on.

"I..." he pressed his lips into a line. "I understand, Rebecca. I could not do much to him either way," he clenched his fingers, missing the sharp scrape of his blade snapping from its sheathe. Rebecca smirked.

"Couldn't do much, heh. Anyway, Desmond, off with you, monkey boy! Hit the city, go on a shopping spree, get your nails done..." she waved her hands, mumbling something about a manny and a peddi as Desmond and Altair stalked from the room, Desmond grumbling under his breath. The two walked widely spaced apart, the fear that Desmond was going to die before he hit forty growing stronger, the tenser Altair's shoulders got.

Slumping down in her chair, Rebecca pushed off her headphones, hooking them around her neck and sighing deeply. She felt too old for twenty seven, tired and worried. She didn't know what had happened, she hoped it was just a system failure, and not someone hacking into their databases. If that was the case, well…she hung her head in her gloved hands, sighing deeply, the sounds carrying the undertone of frustrated sobs.

Lucy stared at her with empathy, getting up from her own seat and going over to Rebecca. She reached out with callused hands and ran them through Rebecca's hair, smiling down at her pinched face.

"It'll be fine, you'll see," she murmured. Rebecca looked away again. "We'll get Altair back, and it'll all be fine. Okay?"

Rebecca looked up fully into Lucy's face, hands rising and going to the backs of her thighs. She hid her face in her stomach, groaning deeply, and hugged Lucy firm to her body. She couldn't handle the stress, really, but she knew in the back of her head that the blonde in front of her, stroking her back, had it tougher.

"Damn, Luce, why's this gotta happen? Why does this land on us?"

"Because we're all the world has left."


	6. Chapter 6

otherwise known as the derpy, filler chapter. I uh, needed to chuckle a bit. Work is stressing me out.  
>hopefully this makes you smile! I'll get back on the actual plotline now. thanks guys for the reviews and like ;u; sorry I can't respond to every individual one, I dunno what to say at times. But I'm happy you all like this thing so far. ::hearts::<p>

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><p>Their footsteps rang out all around them, metallic and heavy, and the air between their bodies was thick with tension. Altair looked straight ahead, lips pursed tightly, and Desmond didn't know if Altair was aware of the constant glances he shot at him, or if he was too wired up to care. He could see the terseness of the muscles in his neck, the lines of his mouth deep with stress and thought, and there were lines under his eyes, too. Desmond frowned.<p>

The only time he had ever seen Altair like this was when he had been faced by Al-Mualim, reprimanded publicly, stripped of his status. He had bore it with stubborn, stoic silence, but there was a subtle hint of anger and fear in his face.

"You are staring. Why is this?"

Desmond started, blinking as if he'd just been flicked on the nose. He stuttered in his footsteps, righting himself on the wall and gasping lightly.

"Oh you know, just someone whose been dead for two hundred plus years is standing right in front of me and I'm not really sure if it's real or Shaun slipped something in my orange juice again."

Altair mimicked Desmond, blinking once and staring at Desmond with a look of confusion on his strong features. Desmond felt a faint flicker of jealousy that Altair's jaw was so strong and rough. His own was rounded with slight fat of just sitting in the Animus all day, everyday. He jerked when that stubbled jaw moved.

"I doubt that. Did you not hear Rebecca?" his voice was skeptic. "She had said that a malfunction in that..._thing_, and with the combination of this so called _Bleeding Effect_, it was enough to bring me to your era," he shrugged, appearing passive about the whole thing, but Desmond knew better. Blood mirrored emotions, he found, and he was scared shitless. He felt cold and clammy all over, nervous and jittery, and his blood felt as if it'd been shot with pure caffeine. He and Altair shared the same blood; they had to feel the same way. A low grumble.

"Yeah, I heard all of that; _I was there_."

"Then why do you doubt this is real?"

"You are so formal it is killing my comical insides."

"_What?_"

"Nothing!"


	7. Chapter 7

thanks everyone! I'mma be going outta town for a week or so, so here have this before I bounce ;u;

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><p>She was close to figuring this thing out. There were codes and encrypted files, a multitude of things she just couldn't call them anything else other than "thingamajigs". Her head was beginning to ache and pound, heavy throbs at her temples and base of her skull, but she was so close. The codes were becoming less and less complex, letters and numbers thinning out from other languages back to dialects she knew. Snippets of German frustrated her, but the other woman was there to rub her neck and hand her a cup of milk and tea.<p>

"God, someone really wanted to fuck us over," Rebecca growled, downing the drink with a small wince, choking a little. Lucy stood beside her, arms crossed, looking over the strings of characters that lined the page. There were gaps in the lines, numbers and letters missing, several disappearing whenever Becca unlocked something or other. She couldn't keep up with all of it, and neither could Rebecca. She lashed out suddenly, slamming her clenched fist on the computer desk with a low shout of "Fuck!". Shaun swore in turn, having dropped his mug of hot tea on his lap. Lucy paid him no mind, hands rubbing across Rebecca's shoulders as she crooned to her.

"Calm down, it'll be fine, Bec, it'll be fine..."

"I know it will be! It doesn't mean I'm not frustrated! It doesn't mean I can't want this fixed sooner, does it!" she gestured angrily, about to punch her computer square in its stupid screen. Instead, she yanked up the tiny cup that held her tea and threw it to the ground, Lucy jumping.

"Hey! No need to break things!"

"Whatever! Shaun, clean this up!"

The Brit was in no position to argue, getting up slowly, sniffling and walking awkwardly as he went to retrieve the broom and the dustpan, mumbling about a new change of pants. Rebecca cradled her head in her palms, fingertips rubbing her temples, breathing in and out brusquely, hands rising and fisting her hair. Lucy stared down cautiously, resuming her rubbing. Rebecca sighed.

"I'm sorry, Luce, I...I'm stressed to fuck, but I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Yeah. Take it out on Shaun; he's been drinking your raspberry tea," Lucy smiled tiredly. A little bit of humor in tense situations didn't hurt. Thankfully, Rebecca let out a dry little chuckle, rubbing her eyes with her balled hands and sitting up. Lucy stroked her ebony hair, pulling out tangles with her fingers, rubbing the back of her neck. Rebecca let out a small noise of pleasure, shaking her head and rolling her shoulders.

"Alright, keep that up, and I should be done within the next twelve or so hours. Hopefully, Desmond doesn't kick the eagle's nest and gets mauled to death by Altair."

Lucy laughed a little, massaging at Rebecca's shoulders, feeling them loosen as she breathed deeply. She fished her battered and abused teal blue iPod from her pocket and hit play as loud as it could go, hands back on the keyboard, humming under her breath as she worked and worked until late turned to early.

"_I got this feeling they're gonna break down the door. I got this feeling they're gonna come back for more...you see I was thinkin' that I lost my mind, but it's gettin' to me all this time, and it don't. Stop. DRAGGIN' ME DOWN!"_

"Oh god, how fuckin' _true._"

It was a long night for Rebecca.


	8. Chapter 8

Hiya guys I'm back :3 short chapter again, I think the next one will be a little longer. Hopefully. ::hearts::

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><p>So things with Altair didn't turn out generally bad after all. He just let the man keep to himself, and waited and watched while he leapt about the rafters like Batman on a sugar high. He'd been Altair, technically, and knew how agile and quick the man was, but he'd never <em>seen<em> him climb, jump, roll and run before. It'd always been first person for him, and it was great, but third person was so much better.

Desmond sat on a large wooden crate, heels of his sneakers drumming against the side as he enjoyed the spectacle of Altair's parkour abilities, leaning back on his hands with a tiny smile on his lips. Altair decided to ignore him for the time being, instead exercising in the warehouse. He never really glanced down at Desmond, only doing so to make sure he wouldn't crush the man when he dropped from the catwalk above. He swung his legs a bit, gaining momentum, before letting himself fly off the metal bar, heading straight for the other man.

Desmond let out a low shout and rolled off the crate, Altair landing just behind the spot he had been seconds before. He scowled up at him, getting up and dusting off his jeans. His knees hurt from where he landed on them.

"I know you don't like me, but you don't have to kill me!"

"I was not trying to kill you," Altair sneered, still crouched, hunched over like a defensive feline. Desmond crossed his arms.

"Sure, you keep telling yourself that."

"I would not kill something so vital to my return home. If it were a different situation, I just might've."

"...That's very fuckin' reassuring. Thanks a lot."

"You confuse me," Altair unfolded himself from his crouch, standing up and walking to the ledge of the crate. Desmond looked up at him , neck strained. Altair crossed his arms, staring back down at him with a cold reserve in his eyes. He spoke lowly, waving a hand.

"You give your thanks, yet I can most obviously tell it is not heartfelt. You do not mean thank you, what do you mean?"

Desmond shook his head.

"It's called sarcasm. People use it to be a jackass, or they use it for a shield. Either way, that's what it is. Kinda confused with irony nowadays."

"How so? Is irony not the contradiction between an action or expression?"

"I guess so; I don't read the dictionary," Desmond shrugged, wincing and stiffening a little when Altair dropped down beside him. He had to admit, the Arabian man looked pretty good in jeans. "Irony is an abused word, sadly. People use it for coincidence or something funny. It's stupid."

"I concur," Altair grumbled, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms out behind him, crackles and pops breaking from his back, his shoulders visibly slackening. Desmond raised a brow.

"First time you agreed with anything I said. I wish I had a camera."

"Camera?"

Desmond heaved another sigh, slouching and covering his face with his hands.

"My _God_, you have so much to learn."

"I do not wish to learn of this world," Altair spoke coldly, the tension back in his shoulders as Desmond straightened and looked at him quizzically. He continued. "This world is not where I belong, so I need not know of what exists. I do not care for this camera of which you speak, I do not care for any other futuristic device. The only thing I care for is getting back."

Desmond blinked, soaking it all in before scowling.

"That's pretty selfish and kinda stupid. Think what you could accomplish if you brought back something from here! A little pager or Shaun's iPod! People would be in awe."

"People would believe it sorcery, and I would be staked."

Desmond threw up his hands.

"_You_ are a very hard man to please."


	9. Chapter 9

this is going somewhere, I promise guys. I just need to get this thing in line.

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><p>After an hour of Desmond trying to crack a smile out of Altair, and failing miserably, they deemed it time for the both of them to head back to the others. Shaun passed them as he slouched away to his room, he and Altair exchanging glares, the Brit's scowl deepening when Desmond declared, rather loudly, as Shaun opened his door "It's okay, Alt-dog, I don't like Shaun either!"<p>

"Prick," Shaun spat at the man's back, drowning out Altair's "_What?_" at Desmond's nickname for him. Desmond flipped Shaun the bird as they rounded the corner into what one would call the office.

"Limey bastard."

"Novice!"

"Oh, I'm so hurt! Blow me, Shaun, put your yappy mouth to use!" he snickered at Altair's subtle confusion and the faint sputtering that came from Shaun. He smirked and shook his head.

"He wants me so hard," he chortled, glancing at Altair, who didn't seem to care. Desmond sighed heavily, smile dropping. He wrinkled his Aquiline nose, crossing his arms and letting Altair go ahead of him.

"Man, I wish you had a sense of humor."

"I have a sense of humor. You are just not funny."

"WHAT! I'M HILARIOUS! What're you talking about!"

"No to me you aren't," there was a cold little smile on Altair's lips as Desmond flailed his arms and huffed loudly, tempted to push Altair like he would Shaun. Even though the man didn't have his blade, he didn't want his nose broken again. All the while, Rebecca and Lucy were watching them with small smiles, Lucy shaking her head and taking Rebecca's new mug from the desk, vanishing into the tiny kitchen. Desmond came up behind the brunette, draping his arms over her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her head, staring blankly at the computer screen that flickered and jumped with colors and symbols.

"What's the SIT-REP, honey buns?" he mumbled, Rebecca pushing him away with a tiny huff of a laugh, baring her teeth in a minuscule grin.

"It's...better, to say the least. I mean, personally rather. I was about to stab something. That's why Shaun ran away. Anyway, things are at a stand-still," her smile dissipated, turning into a frown. She waved a hand at the computer monitor, how the image continually twitched.

"I'm not sure what's wrong with it. This is just my luck."

"Mmmhm, luck doesn't seem to be our strongest point. Uhm, tentative to suggest this, but maybe restart it?"

His hesitance was well placed. Even Altair let out a little noise when Rebecca lurched up with an appalled "_WHAT!_" She threw her hands out at her sides, baring her teeth.

"I can't restart the damn thing! What the hell makes you think I want to lose all my progress! Des, if I restart this thing, I will lose EVERYTHING. All the progress, all the files I managed to save, the _memories_, the _information_! If this is a glitch from goddamn Abstergo, which I'm pretty sure it is, I bet this fucking thing snatches all our information away! I CAN'T restart with that risk over our heads! And I'm not going to!" she looked just about ready to punch Desmond in his barely set nose, upper lip twitching.

Desmond held his hands up, backing away from Rebecca with a shimmer of fear in his eyes, almost bumping into Altair as he turned to flee from the woman's gaze. The other man recoiled, shoving at Desmond's chest at his sudden proximity, snarling. Desmond threw up his hands as he jerked away from the both of his angered comrades.

"Jesus! It was just a suggestion, don't bite my g'damn head off!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry thi****s took so long, fellas. Lot of things happened, some good, some bad. Things are relatively calmer, so I give you this. Thank you to those who are still with this ;u; ::hearts::**

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><p>Watching Desmond retreat from the room sent a small pang of regret lancing through Rebecca's stomach. She flapped a hand in his direction, a motion of I'm-too-tired-to-deal-with-him-but-I-am-sorry and sat back down in her swivel chair. Altair stood awkwardly beside her, his fingers beginning to twitch and convulse, little actions that told Rebecca he missed his hidden blade. She sighed heavily, stretching out her tense muscles with a massive yawn.<p>

"Sorry you had to see that," she mumbled, scratching her brow and frowning, "I don't like yelling, it gives me a headache, but sometimes, Desmond is just so dumb. I love the guy, but really, restarting in the middle of all this? Not gonna happen."

Altair quirked his mouth, looking down at his pants as he shoved his hands into the pockets, frowning at the odd white material that made up his shoes.

"I do think I can say I understand what you mean. Beginning all over again when you have already made progress," he huffed and ducked his head when Rebecca looked up at him quizzically, brows furrowed. He pulled his hands out and gestured with them, looking at the gap in his left.

"Sometimes, during a mission, one of my comrades would wish to end it early, return to whichever main city that was nearby to gain more information. I thought it pointless. We had the location, we had the names, the crimes, all we needed, and they wanted to take a step back," he scowled and shook his head. "We were in the sleeping chambers of a target, just waiting for him to come, to strike. And it was...Rauf, I believe, who wanted to return to Damascus," he lifted his head with a wrinkled his nose.

"I have never particularly enjoyed Rauf's company to begin with."

Becca laughed lightly, rubbing her face with a tired smile. Altair fidgeted, crossing his arms to clench his empty hands into his elbows, cocking his head as Lucy came back from the kitchen, holding Rebecca's mug tenderly and slipping past Altair to place at the brunette's elbow. She smiled at Becca, and gave a low nod to the man, eyes hooded. She turned on her heel and ventured off to who knows where in the hideout. Rebecca sipped at her tea, and they fell into a brief amiable silence. At least, amiable on Becca's side.

The windows that lined the ceiling let in weak light, a faint glow settling over to two assassin's. The larger pane alongside Desmond's bed was covered by a massive sheet, lest anyone cross their path and caught sight of the machinery inside. Altair glanced about the gleaming, blinking mechanisms, taking it all in again with a spinning head. It was a wide space, enough for movement, but not wide enough. He felt claustrophobic, stuck inside for hours on end, turning him into a twitching fool. He needed to be outside, in the open, with plenty of room to run, plenty of room to flee if need be. No walls to be cornered against, no ceilings to impede his climb.

But these people...Rebecca, Lucy, Shaun...they all seemed comfortable to be cooped up. Desmond, though, gave off the air of yearning when he glanced up at those windows, at that sheet. He wanted out. He didn't want to sit here, in this chair, he wanted to be out. Everyone else was content to be stuck within these walls, and it befuddled Altair.

"Penny for your thoughts," Becca prompted gently, jerking Altair out of his musings as she placed her tea down, away from the computer and keyboard in case she knocked it over in another fit of frustration. Altair frowned at the saying, and Rebecca heaved another sigh.

"What're you thinking about?" she reiterated, rolling her shoulders and shaking her arms out before taking to the computer again, biting her lower lip. Altair watched absent as more screens, smaller than the main screen, opened and closed repeatedly. He cleared his throat gruffly.

"You people are perfectly fine with staying indoors, sitting at desks, fiddling with your contraptions. Would you not rather to be out, in the fresh air? I can see that this is of high import, but the physical being of an Assassin should be important as well."

Rebecca scowled, teeth piercing the skin of her lip, tasting the blood. She took a breath and held it, letting out it slowly as she explained.

"We don't go out for security reasons, Altair. The Templars are always on the hunt for us, because we're close to something they want. Desmond is helping us find it through memories, and Abstergo-the Templars- want him, want us, because of that, and how far we've progressed with Desmond on our side. That's why we hide, don't go outside. It's too risky," she hissed in victory as another line of coding vanished. The computer was running noticeably faster, and the lights that lined the wires connected to the Animus flickered back to life. She bobbed a shoulder.

"Plus, Lucy and Desmond are the _real_ assassins, like you. Shaun and I are the Dais, you could say. Ones who divvy out the information. We're not big fighters, although Shaun has some skills, as you've found," she chuckled at Altair's glare. The assassin nodded.

"Even a Dai's fitness is important...this is why you use the...warehouse?" he frowned at how the word felt on his tongue. Rebecca hummed, flashing a smile at the man.

"Mh-hmm. It's as good as we're gonna get, until this war is over," she tapped at the thing called '_the keyboard_', and clicked with the thing called '_the mouse_', though the resemblance of a hunk of plastic to a rodent was little to none, in Altair's opinion. "These power hungry jackasses are just fucking everything up."

"Did you have a separate life before all of this?" Altair asked quietly, pleased to find pockets on the white jacket he wore. Rebecca shook her head, sounding wistful.

"No. Like most Assassin's, we were born into this," she leaned back in her chair, linking her hands on top of her head as she waited for something on the computer to load. "Shaun and I went to the same camp. We were meant for computers, they told us. Scored high on some bullshit test. Lucy went to a camp in Michigan, she says. No idea where Desmond came from. He doesn't like to talk about it."

She reached for her mug, looking down into the cloudy, rosy liquid, before downing it in a single gulp.

"We were chosen to hide amongst the Templars, at Abstergo. Infiltrate their systems, gain what knowledge we could. Shaun worked in my sector, and we found each other with these," she held up her left hand, showing the burn on her ring finger, the warped skin an ugly purple. Altair glanced down at his own hand, thumbing the stump that was left of his own finger. "Lucy found us, by chance. Shaun and I were talking about the 'promising Subject 17', in what we thought was an abandoned office. Lucy thought the same, though she used it for less nefarious purposes," she laughed at the memory.

"Lucy was just hiding her sweets in old cabinets. She was more angry at Shaun for eating her Swedish chocolate than she was at us for hiding for so long. She was the head Templar's secretary, Vidic, and had first-hand experience with Subject 17."

"Desmond?" Altair raised a brow, flicking back his hood to properly see Rebecca. She hummed appreciatively at Altair's ruggedness. Strong jaw, a nice mouth, cheekbones she could cut herself on. Okay, the guy had supposedly been dead, for hundreds of years, but let the poor girl ogle while she could. He was alive, right here, that counted for something, right? She carried on, shoving aside her carnal urges.

"Yep. He wasn't pleased with being Abstergo's guinea pig, which worked out well for us. An assassin at heart, no matter how many times he ran away."

"Desmond tried to flee the Order?" Altair narrowed his eyes at that, jaw clenching, muscles jumping under his stubble-ridden skin. Rebecca took on an air of sympathy.

"No-one would want to be part of this, Altair. Not willingly. This war is horrid, and it tears you apart when you think of the outcomes," she straightened her back, working on the computer again. "If the Templars win, everyone will become mindless servants. The entirety of the world will be puppets to Vidic, or whoever has absolute control over the Templars. If the Assassins win, hopefully the world will be at ease at again. No more of these wars, no more power hungry freaks. But for how long? Who knows how it's going to end?"

Rebecca swallowed heavily, frowning at the computer screen as more of the coding blinked out of sight. Altair was silent, taking in everything Rebecca told him, mulling it over in his mind and nodding. The woman took a break and blew it out noisily, a hint of a laugh in the motion.

"So how's that for a story? Aren't you bored out of your brain? This stuff isn't very fun," she gestured to the computer screen, fingers fanning out, meaning more than the coding, all she had said. Altair shook his head.

"War is never fun."


	11. Chapter 11

**do you guys know how badly I want to turn this into a Becca/Altair story. DO YOU. Here's to satisfy my urges.**

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><p>The next few days were strenuous for them. Rebecca worked, from hour to hour, every minute that wasn't spent eating or sleeping, using the facilities when she needed, and stretching her cramped muscles in the warehouse. While Lucy and Desmond sparred heavily, throwing punches and kicks, darting under each other's limbs to jab into their ribs playfully, Rebecca and Shaun barely tussled, Rebecca too tired, Shaun completely disinterested. And with the distraction of the Animus's malfunction on Rebecca's mind, she couldn't quite concentrate on her parrying and how she snapped out her arm, didn't really care about how wide apart her legs were spaced. She was too tired to care about anything else other than the Animus.<p>

And underneath this worrying, there was a simmer of annoyance and anger. Why did she have to do all the work? Lucy was the leader, but even she was useless in this situation. Desmond wasn't needed, with the Animus broken down, and Shaun was nothing but a bitter Historian, who had an inkling of computer knowledge. But it wasn't enough, and making him work with Rebecca would be pulling teeth.

Altair, surprisingly, was the one who took most notice to Rebecca's fatigue. He tapped her on the shoulder as she deflected a weak punch from Shaun with her forearm, and lead her quietly from the warehouse, up the stairs back to the main rooms. Rebecca frowned up at the man, and down at the hand that rested lightly on her elbow.

"What're you doing, Altair? I had Shaun on the ropes!"

"You are dead on your feet, Rebecca. Training as such does not help. You will only end up hurting yourself, or Shaun," he paused, then bobbed a shoulder in a shrug, "Though I doubt anyone would mind that."

Rebecca laughed lightly, shaking her head and pulling her arm from Altair's grasp, twisting her fingers together and stifling a yawn. She smiled at Altair, baring her teeth.

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat. How'd you tell so fast? Nobody else seems to notice," her voice turned bitter, smile turning to a grimace. Altair tilted his head downward, raking his golden eyes down over Rebecca's tired face. He took in the dark circles under her gray eyes, and admitted that the sights of them weren't unusual. Though they were deeper, a sickly shade of purple. Her mouth was pursed, and her eyes were dull. She was obviously exhausted, but she kept working, working and working and working as hard as she could for her friends. For her world.

Altair couldn't help but admire that.

"The work you have accomplished this past week is worthy of praise," he murmured, frowning. "You are working harder than anyone else here, and the fact that they have yet to thank you is..." he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, the pipes that lined the high roof, looking for a word. "...irritating. You deserve more than this. Lucy helps, of course, but I do not think that is enough."

He meant, of course, the cups of tea and plates of food Lucy would bring Rebecca, the soothing kisses along her temples and ears, and the brief neck massages and hugs. It was comforting, yes, but it didn't get rid of the virus that had the Animus in an unusable state. Rebecca breathed a chuckle, running her bare hands through her short black hair. She had taken off the gloves days ago, when the leather began to get in the way of her typing.

"Thanks would be appreciated, but I don't expect it. Shaun is a bitch, he'd rather spit on the Queen's shoes than say thank you to an American. Desmond is...well, Desmond," she snorted, and Altair allowed a faint smirk to cross his usually stoic features. "And Lucy is doing her best to keep calm, to keep _me _calm. She's internally freaking out," she scratched at a bead of sweat that tickled down her neck. "I think they all are."

"Hmm."

They stood in the cool room, staring at the momentarily silent equipment, the computer's fans dying down to low hums at the lack of activity. The wires connecting to the Animus blinked almost lazily, and with the lights turned down and just the simple glow of the tiny windows along the ceiling, it almost looked like Christmas, with all the colorful blips of color in the room. Rebecca hadn't had a Christmas in a long time.

Altair stared as well, the sight of the machinery always sending him reeling. He felt dizzy, every time he looked upon the massive row of computers that made a semi-circle where Rebecca usually sat, how the lights twinkled like far away stars, the whir of fans, the hum of drives. It all confused and awed him. This was what the world became, hundreds of years after his death. He could barely comprehend the advancement of technology, from his simplistic past to this chromium future. He had a slight desire, a wish to be born into this time, but he belonged in Masayf, and that was where he was going.

Rebecca sighed and ambled over to her desk, patting its metal surface sleepily. She sighed heavily.

"I better leave the Assassins to their training. Wouldn't want to fall asleep in the middle of practice, would I?" she snorted, moving to sit down, but stopped by a low _"No."_ from Altair. She looked at him in confusion as he shook his head rapidly.

"You _are_ an Assassin, never doubt that. And you need your rest, Rebecca, come. You are getting a good night's sleep tonight. It is not fair that Desmond does nothing but laze about and sleeps well for it. Come," it was an order, and Rebecca found herself unable to disobey. She sighed heavily and dug the heels of her palms into her burning eyes, taking a step towards Altair.

An unseen wire caught her ankle, and in a knee-jerk reaction, she lifted her foot high, tripping and knocking over a external hard-drive. It clattered onto the floor, a meek and hollow sound, as Rebecca was caught stiffly by the Master Assassin.

Altair held onto her shoulders, alarmed and unsure, eyes wide, lips twisted. Rebecca's mind blanked, just for a second, just simply feeling Altair's strong hands gripping her tight, how damn muscled he was on his biceps. She blinked and shoved off the man swiftly, stumbling back with a laugh. The computer table bumped the back of her thighs, and she stooped downward quickly to pick up the hard-drive, plugging it back into the USB port and tucking it securely against a computer tower.

"Sorry, I'm not usually that clumsy," she mumbled, shrugging with a tiny smile at the still surprised Altair. The man's lips twitched in an aborted response, and he simply nodded, turning his back on Rebecca and carrying down the hall hurriedly.

Rebecca sighed, and followed Altair down the hall, to her room where he bid her a hasty_ "Sleep well"_ and fled to the safety of the wearhouse.

Boys are so dumb.


End file.
